


you say i am loved when i can't feel a thing

by Gavroche_A



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Just Wants To Be Loved (Good Omens), Crowley Whump (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 03:28:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20859488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gavroche_A/pseuds/Gavroche_A
Summary: angels can sense love, but for demons, even speaking the word hurts. that doesn't stop crowley.





	you say i am loved when i can't feel a thing

_i keep fighting voices in my head that say i'm not enough_

_every single lie that tells me i will never measure up_

_am i more than just the sum of every high and every low?_

_remind me once again just who i am because i need to know_

*******

Aziraphale isn’t in the bedroom when Crowley wakes in a cold sweat. _ It’s just as well, _ he tries to tell himself. He doesn’t want the angel seeing him this way. Not if he can help it. Still, he can’t deny that it would be soothing to feel the gentle softness of the hands on Ctowley’s cheeks at the moment. Or to feel anything from him at all. 

The dream comes rushing back with this thought, and, needlessly, his heart pounds.

_ “He doesn’t love you. He can’t ever love you. No one could, if _ I _ couldn’t.” _ God’s voice echoes in his head, raining down on him like arrows that pierce his very being as he lies melting into a pit of burning sulfur. He wants to argue with Her, even though he knows She’s not listening. Not to him. Crowley wants to insist that Aziraphale _ does _ love him, _ of course _ he does, he’s said so often enough, even though Crowley can’t say it back. The words burn bloody in his mouth, even now.

The reassurance catches in his chest. He can’t feel it. 

Aziraphale always says it’s alright that Crowley can’t manage the words to express his love, because the angel can sense it rolling off of him in waves. But Crowley has no such talents. He can’t feel anything but the physical when Aziraphale holds him, can feel even less now, with the angel off in some other part of the cottage, out of sight. 

He starts to panic. _ Is _ Aziraphale still in the cottage? What if he’s left, left _ Crowley, _gotten tired of trying to fox one of the Fallen and fled? What if he never comes back, and Crowley is alone forever? It’s like being in the burning bookshop all over again, only worse, because this time Aziraphale will have left because he wanted to. 

To his humiliation, Crowley begins to cry.

Aziraphale must hear his panicked gasping, or maybe he can sense the shattering of his blackened heart, because moments later the angel’s plump face appears in the doorway, his brows pinched in concern. “Crowley? What’s wrong, dear boy?” 

Crowley is too distressed to answer, just shakes his head and chokes on the tears threatening to drown him. He forgets, in his fear, that he doesn’t need to breathe, and the struggle for air only adds to his panic. 

Aziraphale crosses the room to him, wrapping Crowley’s trembling corporation in his arms. “It’s alright, my dear.” He soothes, smoothing Crowley’s hair down. “Please tell me what’s happened so I can fix it.” 

_ He’s too kind, _ Crowley thinks, _ to ever push me away. _No matter how little Crowley could possibly deserve it. He’s a demon. Unforgivable. Unloveable. He clings to Aziraphale’s shirt, pressing his face into his neck and letting his familiar scent slowly calm his breathing enough to speak. “I can’t feel it.” He manages, voice muffled against Aziraphale.

Nevertheless, he seems to understand. “Can’t feel what?” He asks, voice calming even in his confusion. “Is it your wings? Oh, Crowley, let me see. I’m certain it was just a dream. You’re alright.”

Crowley shakes his head. “No, not my wingssss.” He’s too upset to keep the hiss out of his voice, and it makes him recoil. “_ You. _ I can’t feel your l-l-” the word stings his tongue even now, but he forces it out anyway, “ _ love. _”

Aziraphale sags. “Oh, Crowley.” He pulls away a bit, and for a moment Crowley thinks this is it, he’s finally going to ask him to leave. But the angel only cups his cheeks gently, wiping away the dampness there. He meets Crowley’s eyes with such an aching fondness, and it sends a pang through Crowley, until he realizes he’s not wearing his glasses. Most of the time that’s alright, when it’s just Aziraphale, but at the moment he can’t bare for the angel to see his slitted, demonic eyes. A sign of how unwanted he is. How unloveable. 

He tries to duck his head, but Aziraphale doesn’t let him go, so he shuts them tightly instead. “Don’t look. Pleassssse.”

“Crowley, I _ love _your eyes.” 

Crowley flinches. “You don’t. You _ can’t. _I’m…” He shakes his head. “I can’t feel it. It’sssss gone.” He bites his forked tongue bloody. Wants to rip it out of his mouth. Damned Serpent of Eden. That’s all he’ll ever be. 

Aziraphale is frowning, he can tell without even looking at him. “My dear, you’ve never been able to sense love. Just because you don’t feel it doesn’t mean it’s gone.”

“I ussssssssed to.” Crowley insists. “Before I Fell. Before Ssssssshe decided I wasssssn’t worth loving.” He winces. “And if Ssssshe can’t love me…” He trails off miserably, mind drifting back to the pain of the Fall, of being wrenched from the Almighty’s unending love. Not so unconditional as he’d once thought. It seems like nothing, now, compared to the idea of losing Aziraphale.

“Please look at me, Crowley.” the angel begs, and even in this state, he is powerless to refuse. He lifts his lids slowly, meeting Aziraphale’s eyes even though he hates himself as he does. “My dear, I love you. WIth every piece of myself. I don’t care what the Almighty decided millenia ago. ** _I _ ** _ love you. _” He says it so easily, and a spark of envy washes through Crowley. Then guilt. Aziraphale deserves better than someone who can’t even reciprocate this small act of caring.

The panic comes back at this thought. He clings tighter to Aziraphale, heedless of wrinkling the fine fabric of his shirt. He wishes he could reach for his glasses, or bury his face again. He feels exposed. But he won’t close his eyes again if Aziraphale doesn’t wish it. The inability to hide is going to make this a lot harder, but he suddenly needs to say it, feels as if the only way to be certain that Aziraphale loves him is for Crowley to tell him in the only way he can hear it himself. 

“Angel,” he gasps, steeling himself against the pain he knows will come. This isn’t the first time he’s tried to tell Aziraphale how he feels. “I l-”

“Crowley, no!” Aziraphale cuts him off, eyes widening in horror. “You don’t have to say it. I know.” 

Crowley shakes his head. He hadn’t even finished and his throat aches. “I need to tell you. Need you to hear that I...I lo-” he grimaces, cutting himself off to gasp.

“Please, dear boy, you’ll hurt yourself.” 

Crowley swallows the bile rising in his throat. “Hurtssss to not be able to tell you. Can’t get worsssse than that.” 

Aziraphale purses his lips, and he doesn’t look happy about it, but he nods. “Alright. I’m listening.” He takes one of Crowley’s hands, pries it gently off of his shirt to hold it in his own. 

Crowley takes a deep breath. His mouth already burns, but he forces the words out anyway, even though it feels like coughing up holy water. “I lo--ahhh--ove you. Love you. I love you, I love you, I-” He coughs on the blood that pools in his mouth. There are blisters burning on his tongue, and his throat is closing in what he imagines a human’s allergic reaction feels like. He can’t stop coughing, and he tips forward, trying to catch the blood in his hands to keep from staining Aziraphale’s clothing. The angel stops him, though, and simply pulls him into his chest. He feels Aziraphale press a gentle kiss to the top of his head, and he trembles with the tenderness of it.

“I love you, too, you silly, stubborn snake.” 

Crowley sighs, and he feels a pleasant coolness seep down from the place where Aziraphale kissed him, pouring over the burning pain in his mouth, soothing the fire there. He hums happily, melting more into Aziraphale. “Mmmmm. Feelssssss nice.” 

“You feel that, hmmm?” Aziraphale asks, his voice soft. “That’s what me loving you feels like.”

Crowley nods. It feels silly now, to have worried, with evidence of the angel’s love so obvious around him. He relaxed into it, fading back into sleep with the warmth of Aziraphale’s arms safe and close. 

*******

_you say i am loved when i can't feel a thing_

_you say i am strong when i think i am weak_

_and you say i am held when i am falling short_

_and when i don't belong, oh you say i am yours_


End file.
